


FIX YOU

by autumnbreeze



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Bottom Castiel, Dean Winchester - Freeform, Destiel - Freeform, Friendship/Love, Human Castiel, Hurt Dean Winchester, M/M, Sexual Content, castiel - Freeform, dean/cas - Freeform, destiel au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-20
Updated: 2015-06-07
Packaged: 2018-01-09 09:43:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1144485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autumnbreeze/pseuds/autumnbreeze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester just came back from war. He's seen too many people die. If you ask him, he can tell you what hot blood feels like spilling from the body of someone he called friend. If you asked him, he could tell you how many friends he's got left. The answer: Zero. </p><p>Until Castiel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dean Winchester

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first Dean/Cas fanfic. I have written a few chapters on it. Generally, I post on wattpad but I am going to try to start posting on here as well. I hope you enjoy. Sorry for any and all grammar mistakes you run across. - Autumn Breeze (www.authorautumnbreeze.com)

The 101st airborne army base catered to men like Dean Winchester. It took punk kids who had no future and turned them into soldiers. It stripped the swag from their gate and put pride in their walk. It made six foot one and now twenty four years old stand with a straight back, a quick eye. No smile. The 101st Airborne Division took boys and made them men. Robbing them of their quick smiles and snappy mouths.

SIR NO SIR.

SIR YES SIR

The Airborne sent men to war and they came back men but broken. Shattered pieces of everything they once were. Shells from shots fired still burned their skin. The sound still echoed in their heads and they could never forget that first time they seen blood, felt it coat their fingers. The horror movie before them only made worse by the eyes of a friend peering back up at them. The dying asked why without words. And the living couldn’t answer.

After two planes, hardly any sleep, and food he couldn’t seem to swallow Dean Winchester exited into the Nashville Tennessee airport. His bag was over his shoulder. The weight only reminded him that dead bodies weighed more. There was no comfort in that thought. He pushed it away and focused on what mattered. He was home. For good.

The end of a fourth combat tour had been reach. It was finally over or at least it was supposed to be. How could something like war end when not everyone came home? Since Dean had enlisted the autumn of his seventeenth year he’d watch five of his brothers die, two of them just this past year on his birthday, no less. The battle was hardly over for him, and if it was it didn’t seem won. He’d lost a hell of a lot.

Thirty eight cumulative months of dry heat desert hell had left him with bad knees, aching shins, recurring headaches from a roadside blast he’d barely escaped and other ailments he hid from his brothers. A soldier could not be weak. A soldier must be strong. You are your brothers wall. Dean Winchester felt like a wall had been built around him, and every breath he took choked the air from his lungs. He was not so much a wall. For him it seemed he existed inside of one.

If hell existed on earth it could be found across the sea in a land where everyone who didn’t talk like you, walk like you, look like you was an enemy. After enough months the face that looked back at you in a mirror was foreign. Hard dead eyes stared back at a pale shrunken face. They seemed to say they didn’t know who you were. You too were the enemy. For every action you took someone suffered. Screams of men you didn’t know sounded a lot like screams of the men you did. They all sounded the same after a time.

Shiny marble and bright white lights glared down at the man dressed in desert BDUs. The T.S.A didn’t search him as thoroughly as they would if he’d had a wrap on his forehead, his tan a little deeper. It didn't seem to register to them that sometimes the enemy had your face, your skin color, your eyes. Sometimes the man you struck down had your mother’s brow, your father’s smile, your brother’s laugh, you sister;s high cheek bones. The enemy all looked like people you knew.

That’s something the Airborne didn’t tell Dean Winchester. The recruiter never mentioned how the gun you hold becomes the tool in which you murder your family over and over again. The guy who signs you never says that the haunted look in his eyes will become your look. You will be brothers before the year is out and yet you’ll never see him again. A family forged in the silent knowledged that yes, you have killed and yes, you would do it again.

Looking around the crowded gate, Dean looked for the faces of the people he loved. Then he remembered they wouldn’t be here. No this arrival had come on the back of silent wings. A broken man couldn’t fight in a war and if Dean was anything it was broken.

See when a man loses his shit in the middle of the night, starts calling out about men who aren’t there, screaming about the blood, pleading with the dead who are long buried the army packs you up and ships you home. They hardly give you the courtesy of a farewell fuck you. You go home, and you deal with your problems son, they say. No one seems to mention that there is no way to deal with the faces of the dead who haunt your sleep, screaming for peace that you can’t seem to grasp.

There are no bags to claim so Dean walks through the area. His eyes are focused on his task. He needs out of this crowd but it’s thick around him, swallowing him whole. He can feel a rising tide in his chest. Choking it down only works so well. He’d been choking it down for far too long. It’d spilled over like water from a flowing cup some day. People were bound to get hurt.

His steps increased. His shoulder hit a woman and sent her spiraling. Her shouts followed him but he ran for the door as if the enemy was chasing him again. There was no one there. Dean didn’t seem to care. Using his shoulder, he shoved the door open and hot summer wind smacked him in the face. It was one ten outside. The hottest summer Tennessee had ever received. The day boiled, hot like Sayad Arab Afghanistan.

“Sergeant Major Winchester?” Spinning around at the sound of his name, Dean didn’t know if he was half between an attack or a salut but it didn’t matter. He froze. The blood in his veins rushed like a waved and crashed against his heart. The organ pumped at twice it’s normal speed. How could getting off a plane, arriving on friendly soil still leave him feeling like he was in a war zone?

Dean opened his mouth, trying to find words. The all escaped him. It was one thing to know no one would be here when you got home. It was another for someone to be here but someone you hadn’t seen it so long you might as well had been stranger. Castiel Novak was a blast from the past.

A best friend all his life Castiel had been his rock for more years then Dean wanted to admit. Then time passed and Castiel grew up. Before long he was ahead of his class, leaving high school three years to early. The last Dean heard he’d started college, was working on some fancy doctor degree. So why was he dressed in an army lieutenant uniform.

Lieutenant. Dean snapped into himself with all the force of a man who knew his place in the line. He fingers rose to his head and his poster went straight. “Lieutenant,” Dean said his voice sharp and clear. It didn’t sound like the broken thing it had been a matter of days ago. Novak returned the salute.

“At ease,” he spoke and there was a tinge of awkwardness in his voice. Novak had known there was a possibility and he’d been hopeful but at the same he had prayed. Dean dropped his hand but everything about him said he recognized Castiel’s authority, not his friendship. What friendship, they were strangers.

“I didn’t realize anyone was going to meet me here, Sir,” Dean spoke. His bag was on his shoulder. There was a pain in the muscle. He was going to get a hotel, toss his shit down and for the first time in months sleep on an actual bed. Maybe take a real shower first. One where the water was hot for longer than three minutes.

“Captain Bobby Singer said you’d need a pick up,” Castiel spoke. He hadn’t volunteered for the job, not really. He knew the incoming had symptoms of PTSD and as the base Psychiatrist it fell to him to look after this man. Dean shook his head. Hair that’d grown longer brushing into his eyes. Just like when he was a boy he used his fingers to comb it back. The first thing he was doing after a shit, shower, shave and sleep was get a hair cut.

“That’s alright Sir. I’ve got a ride.” A taxi counted even if that’s not what the Lieutenant would think. He’d believe Mary or John Winchester were making their way here from Clarksville. Sammy and Charlie probably slammed into the backseat, singin shitty music as they floored it down I24.

“I’ll wait with you until they arrive,” Castiel spoke. Dean sighed. After so many years of being this boys friend he should have known that would be the answer. Castiel after so many years of being a friend knew when Dean Winchester was lying. 


	2. Sigh’s From A Boy Dean Tried To Forget

Night had fallen but the heat was still like wind passed from the devil’s asshole. With the window rolled down in Castiel’s old ford pickup truck it wiped across Dean’s face, burning his dry skin. His eyes were closed and his breath stolen with each passing mile. Castiel glanced over every now and then, inspecting his old friend.

After his last four years working as an army doctor Castiel had learned something vital. Broken men didn’t look broken. They looked like everyone else. Perfectly put together most days, seemingly fine. It was the days you couldn’t see that their insides spilled out, dripping from them through the cracks life had created.

Dean Winchester looked a lot of things sitting beside Cas in the cab. First and foremost was he looked good. His face, rested in some form of peace now, wasn’t the boyhood mask Castiel had memorized. No, it was the chiseled lines of an adult male. Two day growth rested on Dean’s chin and jawline. It only added to him. He’d aged well. Like a fine wine. Castiel had given up drinking.

Turning his head back to the road, he focused on the line of red before him, following the steady flow into Clarksville. Dean remained silent. The heat of the day reminded him of the desert, lured him into sleep.

-

_Shots whizzed past his head but Dean Winchester wasn’t scared. Fear had leaked from his body with each day he’d spent here until he knew without a doubt this land would be the one he never left. He’d die in this hot foreign hell, far away from the soil that had been worked into his skin as a child. He’d accepted that._

_Orders left his lips on rapid fire. The men, most younger, some older, all nodded following his directions. That’s how the chain worked. He was simply a kink in it, a dog in the order. If he was a dog though these men where his bones. He’d pledged to protect them, to get them all home safely. What a silly thing promises are._

_“Ambush!” The cry rang through the area, loud and frightful as the bullets slammed into the wall just above his head. They’d taken cover from insurgents just down the street here. The whole damn town was packed full, spilling to the brim with men who would love nothing more than to cut their hearts from their chest._

_“Take cover,” Dean ordered but it wasn’t necessary. Men and the few woman that had joined them on this were already moving, taking their asses into a building feet away. Guns up, they pointed and moved like creatures who knew every step could be their last._

_A harsh cry rang, something heavy knocked into his back. Dean moved with the practice of a man who’d caught to many bodies to count. He had counted them all. His arm looped around Specialist Evan Tompkins waist. Hosting the boy up, he dragged him the last few feet into the doorway._

_Taking cover behind a wall, just under a window his men were already returning fire. A medic, Jimmy Steady Fingers, came forward. Dropping to his knees the man moved with all the practicing and skill of someone who’d been doing this for far too long. Steady hands grabbed Evan’s uniform, beginning to tear it open._

_Orders fell from Dean’s mouth even as he dealt with the man in front of him. Tompkins gave a choking cough. Reaching out with fingers that shook, he dug in his breast pocket. “My...daughter,” the soldier choked. He was only twenty. His wife just gave birth. He’d missed it completely. Dean grasped his hands, wrapping his fingers around the note._

_“You’ll give it to her,” he said his voice thick, full of order. Evan choked again, a little blood dripping from his chin. Dean looked at Jimmy. He had rolled the man onto his side, was doctoring a wound. The look on his face said it all. Tompkins wouldn’t be giving anything to his daughter._

_Evan tried a laughed, it came out broken and painful. Dean didn’t know what he was laughing about. He went to speak but breath was wheezing out of his lungs. He was growing short._

_“Hold on,” Dean told him. Where the hell was his backup? Where the hell was the people that were supposed to have their ass? “You’re going home,” Dean told him. Evan shook his head. A dying man knew when he was dying. Evan’s eyes went glassy._

_“Sir,” Jimmy said. Dean looked up and the man was shaking his head. Watching the life leave a man was a sight that you couldn’t describe. The moment when a soul left a body, if such a thing existed, was a horrible thing to witness. Dean looked away. His eyes burned. No matter how many times it happened it never got easier._

_“Approaching Sir.” The words had barely cleared the air before the door was kicked open. Bodies covered in black cloth rounded in, guns hosted at their hips as they sprayed into the room. Jimmy spun to take cover, his body shook as it was peppered with rounds. Reaching for his gun, Dean’s fingers wrapped around cold metal._

-

The world rushed around him in colors of black as his fingers came up empty. He jerked, trying to seek shelter before his mind caught up with his body. Hot wind blew into his face. It didn’t smell like the burning sand. The heart in his chest thugged along like that of a train. His eyes took in his surroundings. Castiel set in the driver seat, his eyes forward. Dean knew when a man had been watching him.

Neither pair spoke. Dean dropped his head back against the seat. Reaching up, he rubbed at his chest. His heart slowed before going back to normal. The truck beneath him rattled and hummed along, barely going. Dean was surprised it was still going.  This damn thing was called the Old White Ghost and was near dead. It’d been brand new...in nineteen ninety.

The windshield wipers were a bust even when the boys had been learning to drive it eleven years ago. The air conditioner never worked. About the only thing on the rust bucket worth a damn was the radio. Castiel had nicknamed the system angel and if you spoke when it was on he shush you without hesitation.

Currently it was off and the only thing that broke the silence was the whooshing of cars going down the interstate with them, honking and beeping at each other. Everyone was in a race to get somewhere. Dean just wanted to get home. After his last ten months sleeping on a cot, sometimes not sleeping at all Dean didn’t know where home was, and who to call family. Family felt like a dog he’d had to leave behind but was promised would be sent out not long after him.

There was a heavy sigh from the other side of the cab. Dean glanced over at the Lieutenant before looking away. Castiel was the kind of man where if you gave him long enough he’d say whatever was plaguing him. Dean knew the best way to find out what a sigh was about was to not mention the noise. They traveled along, the moon only higher in the sky, the night only getting darker.

Castiel wanted to speak to his old friend, ask how he was and know he’d get an honest answer. In truth he knew whatever came out of Dean Winchester’s mouth would be distant, like them. The soldier, like all men that wore boots like his, couldn’t be weak. There was something in words that they found weak, as if admitting to the things they’d seen made them somehow lesser, made them childlike in their fear.

Castiel sighed again. He was a sigher. Since they were boys when something was on his mind he’d sigh his way to a conclusion. It was as if with each breath that was forced from his lips he was deciding what to do, his next course of action. About this time Dean would turn to Castiel with one of those expressions and demand to know what was bothering him.

Dean Winchester kept looking out of the window. Castiel sighed again. Dean’s jaw clenched. That noise was going to drive him crazy. He had half the mind to believe Castiel was doing it on purpose, trying to drag a response from him. It wouldn’t work. Castiel did a longer, heavier sigh.

“Lieutenant,” Dean barked, snapping up. Castiel jumped in his seat, his fingers flexing on the wheel.

“Sorry,” Castiel said. Dean went to looking back out the window. Castiel sighed again.

“For christ sake Castiel,” Dean snapped again, using the man’s name for the first time in more years than either cared to acknowledge. “Why the hell are you sighing?” Winchester asked him.

“Am I not allowed to sigh?” Castiel asked. Not when it was damn annoying.

“God, I should have just walked,” Dean muttered going back to the window. Castiel sighed once more.

“Do it again,” Dean said. “I swear I’m jumping from this truck if you do it again.” Those were not the words of an army Sergeant Major. That was the treat of a fourteen year old Dean who did not have time for Castiel’s sighs. It was the statement of a boy who’d just hot wired a dying truck, determined to learn to drive the thing before the sun rose and his parents woke. Only he’d been threatening to thrown Novak from the truck and not jump himself.

Castiel looked towards Dean. Look back out the windshield. Silence fell for a moment. Dean looked back out the window. Castiel sighed. “That’s it,” Dean said. his hand reaching for the door handle.

“Alright,” Castiel cried knowing Dean would throw himself from the truck. “Alright,” he said. “I’ll stop.” Dean released the handle, going to staring out the window silently again. If he’d looked in a mirror he’d have noticed he was smiling, or at least what passed for one these days. Everything was silent again. Just the wind and honking vehicles. Castiel glanced at Dean, back out the windshield. Dean ignored him.

Castiel sighed.


	3. Some Place We Used To Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said I was going to move this to Wattpad. I did and you can still find it there but I realized a lot of people don't use wattpad for their fan fiction so I am also going to post here. Sorry for any inconvenience I might have caused. - Autumn Breeze (www.AuthorAutumnBreeze.com)

Castiel pulled off I24 at Exit 11. The outskirts of Clarksville. Almost touching the city but not quite. You could see the stars out here. They weren’t as bright as they were in the desert but still they hung in the sky.

To the left of the exit an old gas station sat, left to the elements. As long as Dean had lived in this town  -all his life- he had never once seen it open. Just after that a Waffle House sat. Black and yellow, it was like an angry bumblebee lite up out here. Across the road a McDonalds had been built. It didn’t get nearly as many customers as it thought it would this far out of the city.

The only people who came out here were looking for one of two things. Food from the best Waffle House in the great state of Tennessee, or a room at one of the crappy hotels that lined the roads. Sometimes they sought both. Dean knew he’d drove out this way in his father 67’ Chevy Impala more than once with a girl for a cheap motel room and even cheaper food.

Dean hadn’t seen the Waffle House in nine months and fourteen days. He’d been there when he’d got a call from his commander. He was shipping out. Seeing the building made Dean’s stomach roll. He didn’t exactly want to go inside. Castiel slowed the truck, flipped his blinker and turned left into the drive that connected it and a broke down Comfort Inn to the highway.

Dean didn’t say anything. A hot meal would do him some good, he figured. After all these years Cas could tell from the stretch of flesh over Dean’s cheek bones he hadn’t been eating. The black circles under his eyes meant the man hadn’t been sleeping. His nails, chewed to the quick, some of them red and blotchy with dried blood meant he was stressed beyond his limits. Food was needed.

“Remember when our folks used to bring us here, three in the morning. Best chicken melt in the world?” Cas asked as he put his truck in park and cut the engine off. How air settled around them without the benefits of the blowing wind. How it could be the middle of September and somehow feel like July outside was beyond both men’s comprehension.

“Yeah,” Dean answered shortly. He remembered the days of his childhood when him and Cas would push up on one side of the booth while which ever’s parents sat across from them. It would be ten degrees below freezing your nuts off inside. The boys would press together, fingers wrapped in each others hands, trying to cling to warmth.

“Come on then,” Castiel said pushing his door open and climbing out. The air was still and thick as he walked across the parking lot. A few seconds after he’d reach the sidewalk he’d have to step on he heard the sound of his truck door slamming shut. Looking back Dean had gotten out of the truck. He was still in his BDUs. A man had never looked so tired.

Castiel waited for the tired soldier to join him before he pulled the door open. Dean grabbed the top of it and held it, allowing Cas to pass under his arm as if they were teenage boys again, instead of grown men. Walking into the small space that separated the main restaurant from the outside, Cas waited for the door to swing shut behind Dean before opening the second one. Dean grabbed this one as well.

At this time of night the place was empty except for a few people who were probably regulars. Cas moved towards a table in the back corner, sliding into the booth. His back was to the window so he could face the door. Dean followed behind him. He looked down at the seat that would leave his back to the door. He wouldn’t have a view of the two other tables that would be behind him. He frowned.

“Oh,” Cas said, before sliding out of the booth. “Here,” Castiel spoke waving to the seat he had been in. He slid past Dean, sliding into the seat that would leave him without a view. Dean paused for a few seconds before sliding into the seat Cas had vacated. Neither men spoke about it as they reach for menu’s that rested on the table.

Since they were boys, hardly thirteen, they’d come to this Waffle House. Always this booth if they were allowed to chose. Neither boy had ever ordered anything but their normal. Now as men Castiel wondered if Dean would order the same as he always had. Castiel’s order hadn’t changed since he was a teenager.

“Hey Cas,” a familiar voice for Castiel said and he looked up. “You’re out late,” Ruby commented.

“One of those nights. You know how it is. I didn’t know you’d be on the night shift,” Castiel said smiling kindly.

“Crowley changed the schedule. Asshole’s got me working all week about this time.” Ruby shook her head, clicking her tongue in displeasure. She had a love hate relationship with the manager. “What can I get you boys?” she asked, looking towards Dean, then back to Cas.

“Cherry sprite,” Castiel told her and she scribbled on her pad before looking to Dean.

“Coke,” he answered shortly.

“I’ll be right back with that,” she said slipping her pen and pad into her pocket. Moving away from the table, she slipped behind the counter.

“Really, a cherry sprite,” Dean spoke and Cas looked at him.

“What?” Castiel said. Dean shook his head.

“You’re not thirteen anymore, you know,” Dean told him.

“Unfortunately. We were friends then,” Castiel retorted, the words slipping out without warning. He sucked his lower lip into his mouth, chewing on it. Dean looked up at him for a moment, before back down at his menu. Castiel sighed. Dean shook his head at the sound.

“It’s not my fault we are strangers,” Dean told him. Ruby came back with their drinks before Castiel could form his rebuttal.

“Are you ready to order?” she asked with a pleasant smile.

“The chicken melt,” Castiel answered. Ruby didn’t move to write it down. She’d probably already done so. Castiel always ordered the same thing, no matter what.

“How about you?” Ruby asked Dean.

“Burger and fries.” Castiel frowned. That was not the same order Dean had made years before. Or at least, it wasn’t completed. It appeared the army sergeant had grown up. Castiel had not.

“Anything else?” she asked looking between then men. They shook their heads no. “I’ll bring it out as soon as it’s up,” Ruby told them.

“Thanks,” Castiel told her. She nodded.

“My pleasure,” she told him before turning away, moving towards the counter.

“Actually,” Dean called out, “Can I get a slice of pie? Apple.” he told her before she was out of earshot. Castiel bowed his head, hiding his smile. Dean had one true love his whole life. Pie. If there was one thing that had never let him down, had never disappointed him it was pie. The type didn’t matter. Dean would try it all at least once. His favorites were apple, cherry, and pecan.

“Sure thing sweetie,” Ruby answered, pulling out her pad and writing down the order of pie. She moved away, calling out their order. Castiel looked up at Dean. He was staring out the window. One of his hands rested on the table, and his fingers moved as he tapped.

Dean could feel Cas’ eyes on him. He deliberately kept looking out the window, unwilling to meet the younger man’s bright blue eyes. Inside the socks that held the sea Dean had always managed to get lost. These days being lost wasn’t a good thing. The one thing he needed was focus.

“So,” Castiel said, dragging the word out.

“Yeah?” Dean said but didn’t look to his table mate. Castiel sighed. “I wish you’d stop doing that,” Dean monotone.

“Maybe I wouldn’t if you’d look at me,” Castiel told him. Right now the army lieutenant charged to look after a sergeant major with PTSD wasn’t present. Castiel, the boy who had to leave his friend so he could better his life was.

“Whats the point?” Dean asked, sounding tired. He looked just as tired, done.

“Because I’m sorry,” Castiel said. He slammed his hand down on the table hard. Dean jumped a little. Castiel couldn’t muster a sorry over his frustration. “Look at me dammit,” he demanded. Dean slowly turned his head towards Castiel.

“Sorry,” Dean said tasting the word on his tongue. It was twisted and tasted like acid on his lips. “For what?” Castiel frowned. Dean just peered at him, honestly awaiting an answer. Castiel sighed.

“I’m going to the bathroom.” Standing up, he moved away from the table and across the establishment. Stepping into the bathroom, moving towards the sink, he sighed heavily. Dean at the same time Castiel was splashing water onto his face was exiting the building, grabbing his bag out of the back of Castiel’s truck and making his way to the Comfort Inn.

 


	4. Do You Buy Them In Bulk?

Coming from the bathroom, Castiel stopped. A sigh passed through his wet lips. The booth him and Dean had occupied was empty. Ruby stood at the counter and shook her head softly. “He left,” she said. Castiel sighed again. He hadn’t sighed so much since he was sixteen.

“Can you just put our stuff in to-go boxes?” Cas asked as he slide into a stool. Ruby smiled kindly.

“Sure thing,” she answered pulling her checkbook out. Ripping off a page, she laid it on the counter in front of Castiel. Picking it up, he looked at the price before digging in his pocket for his wallet. Pulling it out he used his bank card for pay for the meal. His military discount already included.

“Thanks Ruby,” he told the brunette. She smiled at him. Moving away, she began to help the cook move their order into to-go boxes. When it was all ready she bagged it and brought it over.

“Have a good night,” she told him, passing the bag over the counter.

“You too,” Castiel told her. It was pushing three am when Cas climbed into his truck. Setting the food on the seat, he started the old rust bucket up. Pulling from the parking lot, he went to the Comfort Inn and parked. Climbing out of the cab, he walked to the building. Slipping inside their air conditioner was like a slice of paradise.

“Hello,” Cas greeted politely, coming up to the desk. “I came in with Dean Winchester, other army guy. We accidently left our room key inside when we stepped out. Do you think you could let me in?” Castiel asked the woman who was inspecting him. She was of some indian nationality.

“Sure, sure,” she answered in broken english. Coming around the counter, she called out in Hindi. A boy not much older than Charlie, Dean’s little sister, came out. He answered the woman before stopping behind the counter. The lady pulled what was probably a master key from her pocket. Moving out of the office, she passed doors. Coming to the number twenty one door, located in the back corner near a set of stairs, she slide the master key in.

“Thanks,” Cas said, catching the handle before the door was opened by her.

“Nice night,” she said, her english barely passing. When she walked away Castiel pushed the door open slowly. He could hear shower water as he slipped into the room. Shutting the door behind him, he moved to the table and set the food down. Shrugging out of his coat, he tossed it on the single king size bed.

Pulling the food from bags, he sat it on the table. Sitting down after everything was arranged, he waited. It wasn’t long before the shower cut off. After a few seconds the bathroom door was opened. Hot steam escaped into the air, surrounding Dean as he moved into the room.

Dean brought his fingers up, pushing them into his wet hair. Water dripped down his shoulders, running down his chest to pool against the edge of his towel. It had been a long time since he’d had a hot shower. Now his muscles were relaxed, and a yawn split his lips. After sleeping he’d wake and get ahold of his folks. They lived out in Montgomery County on a farm stashed full of cattle year around.

“Food’s getting cold,” Castiel’s voice sounded and Dean’s head snapped up. He reach for a gun that would normal be on his side but there was nothing there.

“How the hell did you get in?” Dean asked. Castiel’s tongue flicked out. His eyes traveled over the body of his old friend. Dean Winchester had definitely grown up. Muscles that had not been present when they were boys were clearly defined now, rippling down the older man.

“Lady at the front desk,” Castiel told him. Dean shook his head, moving into the room. Grabbing his night clothes he moved back into the bathroom. Slamming the door, he yanked the towel away and tossed it onto the back of the toilet. Pulling a tan shirt over his head, he coupled it with a pair of military sweats. It was all he had.

Water dripped from his hair so he picked the towel up and ran it over his head. What the hell was Castiel doing here? Why did the universe insist on torturing him? His younger friend had taken off when they were just going into the tenth grade. His advance classes and summer courses since he started middle school had him graduating ahead of time. When Dean was deciding what side bitch he wanted Castiel was picking out colleges.

Dean Winchester was not a sigher but he sighed. His body was tired, his mind worn. Tomorrow he could battle with his former best friend, argue over the past and hammer out the future but today he would eat, and sleep. Nothing was so important that he needed to argue. Not tonight. Not today.

Exiting the bathroom, he tossed the towel in a corner. Moving towards the table, he dropped into the chair across of Cas. Without a word he popped the plastic top from his food. Castiel did the same. Both men were silent as they ate their meal. The air unit hummed noisily, blowing a slightly cooler air than what was outside. It ruffled the curtains but everything else was still.

“Do you buy them in bulk?” Dean spoke around a mouth full of burger.

“What?” Castiel asked, confused.

“The damn trench coats.” Castiel looked over at the coat on the bed. Since he was a boy he’d had a love for them. He’d gotten his first one from Mary Winchester when he was twelve years old. They’d become something of an obsession for the boy. When one was wearing thin he’d get a replacement. The one located on Dean’s bed at this moment had been in Castiel’s possession for going on five years now. It looked worn, old. Castiel had developed an attachment to it which explained why he got it repaired instead of just throwing it away.

“I might,” Castiel answered. Dean shook his head.

“Why were you at the airport? Why are you in uniform? What happened to being a big fancy doctor,” Dean asked, using some of his soda to wash down the last bite of burger.

“I am a big fancy doctor. Just a military one. I’ve got a PHD in Psychology,” Castiel told him, finishing off his fries. Dean looked him over.

“A head doctor,” Dean said cautiously.

“Something like that,” Cas told him, sitting back in his chair. Grabbing his cherry sprite, he sucked on the straw until that god awful sound of a drained cup started.

“That still doesn’t explain why you were at the airport.” Dean thought he knew why. Castiel knew Winchester was smart enough to figure it out. Right now he was just fishing, trying to make clarification.

“I was sent to meet an incoming possible patient,” Cas told him honestly. “When they said Winchester, I thought maybe. I had no way to know for sure.”

The incoming had been last minute. Castiel had been setting up for the day at his office when he’d gotten the call. Sergeant Major Winchester, possible PTSD, was incoming. After discussing some details, Castiel had asked for the file to be faxed to him, canceled his daily appointments and left from Fort Campbell to Nashville.

“I don’t need your help,” Dean said, shoving away from the table.

“Well, you’re eight years are up in November. After that I can’t make you come visit me but Captain Singer is going to require you to have weekly sessions with me.” No one ever wanted to come see Castiel. Upon picking this job he’d wanted to help people. The ones who needed the most help hardly wanted it. As an army doctor he was both loved and hated in the same breath. He was okay with that, accepted it.

In the private sector, bouncing around with his degrees he’d had the same treatment. After finishing the required school earlier, thanks to a heavy workload and classes he’d completed in high school Castiel had searched around on the coast for a place he fit. No where seemed to be good enough. Feeling lost, he’d done the one thing he vowed to never do. Shaked up with the army. It turned out to be the best decision of his life. They’d made him lieutenant before two years was up. Doctors were highly valued on post.

“I don’t need a doctor,” Dean told him, moving further away. Castiel knew it was a tactic to separate yourself from what was happening.

“Dean,” Castiel started.

“No,” Dean cut him off moving towards the sink. “I’m fine,” Dean said, cutting on the water and grabbing his tooth brush from a plastic bag he’d tossed on the counter. Castiel fell silent, not wanting to push the subject. There was time to talk about things like that later.

“Have you heard from your mom?” Castiel asked instead, rising from the table to clean things away.

“She doesn’t know I’m back,” Dean answered after spitting into the sink. “I’ll call her tomorrow.” Mary Winchester would be beyond pleased to have her son back. Sammy and Charlie would both be over joyed. Even John though he wouldn’t admit to it. Each of them would wonder why Dean was back without notice.

Dean didn’t know it yet, but he was going to have to answer some pretty tough questions. Both from his family, and the medical doctor in charge of his care until November first.

 


End file.
